


Calm

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Case, Fluff, Gen, Hot Springs & Onsen, M/M, Nudity, Snow, Winged Castiel, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead, Dean finds him stripping off his long johns around what looks to be a pool, steam rising into the air and snow melting on the water’s surface. It’s at least seven feet at its widest, white lining the edges and rippling from the small stream that trickles in. The smell is almost enough to knock him backwards until he gets used to it, the telltale aroma of sulfur putting him on edge until he realizes what this is.</p><p>Castiel found a hot spring—<i>Jackpot</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm

It’s cold. Colder than anything he’s ever felt, seeping into his very bones through the multiple layers he’s wearing. All _three_ of them are wearing, in fact—Dean leads the group with a knapsack strapped over his back while wearing the finest North Face the Goodwill can buy him, Sam at his back with a scarf wrapped around his neck and face, long hair doing wonders for keeping his head warm. Lucky _him_. Castiel’s still dressed in his trench coat, but now dons a pair of well-insulated jeans and a sweater, maybe two. Dean doesn’t know—his fashion sense isn’t the most attractive thing in the universe, but if Castiel is anything, he’s practical. For all he knows, he could be wearing long johns underneath it all.

Which, in and of itself, isn’t exactly a bad idea in retrospect. Maybe then Dean could feel his fucking _toes_.

Sam’s a dead man when this hunt is over.

They’ve been hiking through the Rockies for what feels like hours, slugging through snow and downed limbs, all in search of the wendigo that has been preying on hikers for the past two weeks. Multiple bodies had been found strung up from trees and abandoned, probably hikers or strays in the area, all drained of whatever life they once had. There’s a campsite near one of the peaks, based on older park maps they dug up in the library in Glenwood Springs, long since forgotten and most likely only known to those who stumble across it, all within a few mile radius of where the hikers were found. If anything, they were staying there.

The cabin, when they find it, is blanketed on every side by two feet of snow, the roof barely carrying the weight; still, it’s standing, and once Sam works the front door open, it’s more than suitable for their needs. Two bedrooms with two twin beds each, the blankets frigid but insulated, every window covered with lighter sheets to keep out the chill. Bags litter the living room from previous travelers, never to be retrieved; even the fridge is stocked with beer and water, and a few questionable packages of lunchmeat with an expiration date of two months before. The food needs to be trashed and the belongings taken back to the ranger’s station a few miles down the trail, but only after the wendigo’s burnt and they can get back down the mountain.

From the way the snow is picking up, Dean thinks they won’t be leaving any time soon.

Sam starts the fireplace while Dean unpacks their food stash from Castiel’s bag, enough to get them through four days if they ration enough. It shouldn't take them that long, if the pattern stays the same. A day of tracking and they might be able to take it down under the cover of night, as long as they don't get separated. But that’s tomorrow, after they warm their bones and stop the shivers wracking their frames.

Castiel is nowhere to be found once the fire’s crackling, the remaining timbers enough to warm the cabin until they find fresh wood in the morning. Dean wanders each room in search of the Angel, coming up with nothing until he finds a cracked door beyond the bathroom, winter air rushing in, snow coating the mat. “Cas?” he calls, fully expecting him to have run off, maybe in search of kindling or casing the area.

Instead, Dean finds him stripping off his long johns around what looks to be a pool, steam rising into the air and snow melting on the water’s surface. It’s at least seven feet at its widest, white lining the edges and rippling from the small stream that trickles in. The smell is almost enough to knock him backwards until he gets used to it, the telltale aroma of sulfur putting him on edge until he realizes what this is.

Castiel found a _hot spring_ — _Jackpot_.

Castiel’s already in by the time Dean calls for Sam, the brothers rushing onto the back porch to find him taking up a good half of the spring, black wings spread out behind him and gathering snow where they’re not submerged. He’s naked—gloriously so—and flapping his plumage, looking content about being able to let them free for the first time in a while. He and Sam have seen them before, on rare occasions where Castiel has the room and the means; every other week, they’ll spend the day grooming his wings in front of the television either at the bunker or whatever motel they’re shacked up in for the week, half of the time Castiel falling asleep before they even finish.

It wasn't like they wanted to turn him away either. It had been such an odd request, asking them to help groom his molt like it was the easiest thing in the world, like baring his wings to _humans_ was what he did in his free time. But he’d never asked it of anyone before, and Dean and Sam accepted the task with masked enthusiasm. The knowledge that they were two of the only humans to ever see—and _touch_ —an Angel’s wings was a powerful thing. They could even use the dead feathers for spell magic if they needed, something Castiel actually recommended; he had no use for them, anyway.

Now, he’s relaxing with his wings half out of the spring, looking infinitely warmer than he was minutes ago, previously frostbitten skin now flushed red from heat. The suddenness of the temperature change probably wasn’t the healthiest thing in the world, but he looks better now—Sam must notice as well, because he’s laughing at Dean’s side, nudging his shoulder with a bit less force than usual. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sam says, cheery. “What’re you waiting for?”

Dean flushes at the mention, glaring back at his brother with winter-reddened fingers buried in his jean pockets. “What am I—What’re you saying?” he asks, choking on his words; Sam barks a laugh, a clump of snow falling off a higher branch from the sudden noise square atop his head. “Hah, see?” Dean chuckles. “That’s karma, right there!”

“You’re both welcome to join,” Castiel offers beyond the snow, wings flaring when he pushes off the edge of the pool to swim closer to them, feathers trailing through the thick blankets of white and forming definite shapes. “Unless you’d rather lose your toes to frostbite.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh, Mr. I Found a Hot Spring over here has jokes,” he joshes, elbowing his brother. He’d be a fool not to take up the offer—his feet have been frozen for the past mile, and whatever feeling he has in them is minimal at best, even with the three pairs of socks he put on that morning and the thickest boots he could afford. Sam’s already taken to the idea, kneeling to unlace his shoes and setting them aside, hissing at the sudden rush of cold air.

They spend the next fifteen minutes easing their way into the water, Castiel alternating between watching them at the opposite end of the spring and melting snow between his fingers. Dean sits along the edge and dips his toes in first, fighting the chill that bites through his clothing, until he’s sure his toes won’t fall off and the shock won’t kill him. He and Sam mirror each other’s movements, eventually stripping down to nothing and tossing their clothes onto the back porch, submerging into the few-foot-deep pool.

 _It’s warm_ , is all Dean thinks for the first minute, letting the heat soak into his skin and drive the chill out of him; he isn’t even bothered that he’s moaning in proximity of his brother and Castiel, but it’s been hours since they started their hike from the bottom of the mountain and this is arguably one of the best things that has ever happened to him. Sam apparently agrees, head half submerged in the water, nose blowing bubbles beneath the surface.

All the while, Dean catches Castiel watching them with a stupid grin on his face, wings fluffing happily at his back. Dean shuts him up with a hand to his feathers, pulling his left wing practically into his lap and running his fingers through the plumage, Castiel purring under the ministrations. “Hope you mojo’d this clean when you got in,” Dean says, catching Sam’s gleeful smirk.

“I purified the water before I walked in,” Castiel supplies, eyes drooping, wing falling lax in Dean’s hold. “I wouldn't have recommended it otherwise.”

It’s enough of an answer for him, for the both of them. They stay there for another hour, shuffling the snow from their hair as the storm rages on, both brothers tending to what they can reach of Castiel’s sodden wings, pulling free loose feathers and piling them up at their sides. It’s calming, in a way; part of Dean knows that there’s a rabid monster out there vying for the next living thing to wander in its path, but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. Tomorrow, they’ll head around the perimeter in search of anything they can find and hopefully torch the thing before it attempts to rip one of their heads off; for the moment, though, he rests with the knowledge that they’re together and alive and no longer freezing to death.

Sam leaves with his clothes to start dinner once the sky begins to darken, night creeping beyond the trees. Black feathers form neat piles along the edges of the pool, and Dean pushes across to gather up Sam’s and places them atop his own. At his side, Castiel rests with his head pillowed on his arms, wings draped half in the water and half in the snow bank, white gathering in his feathers and melting almost immediately after. He looks peaceful there, Dean thinks, eyes closed and nose wrinkling every few seconds, shaking off the gathering precipitation. “Look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Dean comments, Castiel’s wings bristling with the recognition.

“It’s quiet here,” Castiel answers, eyes half open, one hand reaching out to draw patterns in the snow. It really is—he can’t even hear the wind in the trees or the snow piling up, their only company being that of a crow in a nearby branch, the black bird chattering away with a friend across, the two shaking off the weather before flying higher, out of sight. “I don't think we’ve been able to relax for the last few months, not like this.”

Dean nods, sinking under the water up to his neck and toying with a short black feather between his fingers. Castiel watches the movement, the tip of one of his secondaries peaking from beneath the pool’s surface, creating a wake as Dean pulls it along. “Been a while, hasn't it?” Beside him, he sees Castiel nod and shake out his feathers, a wad of melting snow catching Dean’s cheek. “ _Hey_ , rude.”

Castiel laughs, blue eyes hooded in Dean’s direction. “My apologies,” he lies; Dean just rolls his eyes. “It’s a cute look on you, though, how red your face is.” He feels Castiel trail a finger down his cheek to wipe away the slush before he can stop him, thumb coming away wet and snowy; Dean has half the mind to lick it off him.

“Not my fault you decided to fling _snow_ at me,” Dean huffs. Slowly, he lowers his head half under the water, blowing out air with a sigh. “You, though… How’re you doin’? It’s… been a few weeks.”

That much is true, and Castiel agrees. He has Heavenly duties, always something to do with working to reopen the gates and reordering the Spheres, keeping everyone aligned—but it’s been nearly a month, and this is the first Dean’s seen or heard from him, outside of phone calls and that one time he appeared in a television set in Tacoma. “I’ve been… well,” Castiel mumbles, letting snow pile on the back of his hand. “Lonely.”

Dean’s face falls; he reaches out to touch one of Castiel’s wings, brushing off the slush before stroking a hand through the shorter feathers at his arch, feeling it relax into his touch. “…You’re always welcome back here, y’know. You always got a home with us,” he says, quiet; Castiel nods with acknowledgement, and subsequently sweeps Dean closer with his wing, smothering him with soaked feathers, the brightness of the snow temporarily blocked out in the darkness of their cocoon. “ _God_ , you’re a clingy bastard, y’know that?”

“So you’ve told me,” Castiel chuckles against his neck. Dean snakes his arms around Castiel’s waist, Castiel returning the gesture, their embrace warmed by the springs and shared affection, feathers tugging him impossibly closer until their skin is pressed together and Dean is left shivering, but not from the chill in the air.

He could say it here—they’re virtually alone in the middle of the forest, and Castiel would listen to his every word. Maybe he would even reciprocate, or get them to a good place in the cabin, keep Sam from hearing anything.

“So, are you two planning on coming inside any time soon?”

And then there’s his _brother_ , with impeccable timing as always. Castiel lowers his wings enough to let them peek their heads out, Dean still buried in feathers and melting snow, Castiel looking more smug than ever. They planned this, didn't they? “We’ll be in momentarily, Sam,” Castiel confirms, and Sam walks back inside from the back porch with a grin plastered all over his face, draped in a quilt.

Dean burrows his head back into Castiel’s neck, black wings closing over them again, blocking out the gray sky. “It’s gonna be cold in there, isn’t it?” Dean whines. Castiel chuckles, carding a hand through Dean’s hair, brushing away the last few second’s accumulation from the wet strands. “Really don’t wanna leave.”

“I don’t either,” Castiel sighs. Whether it’s from the springs or from Earth, Dean doesn't know. He sits there for a minute longer, feeling the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath against his ear, until the realization that they’re both _naked_ and essentially in each other’s lap rears its ugly head, Dean flushing immediately. “You’re thinking too much, Dean.”

He really is; Dean laughs, hiding his face. “Thought I told you to stay outta my head,” he chides, halfhearted.

Castiel pets his hair in compromise, mouthing a kiss to his neck. “There are some things I don't need to go inside your head for to know what you’re thinking,” Castiel says. Which, true. “You were tensing. You should relax.” He pauses, brow pulled tight in worry. “I won’t… We don't have to say anything to your brother about this if you don’t wish.”

Dean shrugs, finally pulling back enough to press their foreheads together, a quiet smile on his lips. “Pretty sure he already knows _something_ ,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “C’mon.” Dean pulls Castiel’s hands between them, rubbing his knuckles; Castiel’s face softens, lips curling into the sincerest of smiles. “Sammy’ll burn down the house if we don’t get in there.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says, but not before pressing a small kiss at the corner of his lips, Dean’s face flushing bright red. He helps Dean to his feet, shielding him from the buffeting storm with his wings as they step out of the springs and onto the porch, shaking them free of slush and water once they’re under the awning, soaked to the bone. “You should help dry my wings, after we’re dressed.”

“That’s—we can—I can do that, yeah,” Dean stammers, face red, wrapping his arms around himself.

Castiel draws him in again, feathers a temporary reprieve to the frigid air, draping him in warmth; he pulls Castiel in for another hug, his arms around his neck, Castiel’s draped over his waist, their skin wet, but still hot from the springs, from each others embrace. “…It’s good to see you again,” Castiel says into his ear, and Dean shudders. “I missed you, Dean.”

He nods and closes his eyes. “Missed you too, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this before I went on vacation last week and just finished it today after a bit of an existential crisis. I have three other prompts that're being written and will HOPEFULLY be released soon, so prepare for those! Two are wingfics and one's an AU I've wanted to write for a while. I'm excited!
> 
> It's really hot in Atlanta. I really want snow. You see my dilemma. Also what are titles anymore?
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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